The Old Man(94)

Spencer guessed that Hamzah had to have kept an unambiguous connection with the cluster of villages his tribe controlled, and especially this one. In the old days, he’d held no office, and probably didn’t now. After a first attempt by Libyans in the post-Gaddafi years to hold elections, the Islamic fundamentalists had announced that they had no intention of accepting their loss. After that there were no elections for Hamzah or anyone else to run in, and no offices to win. All a man like Hamzah could be doing was promising to deliver his faction to one side or another in the civil war. Right now, he must be on the side the United States supported, the Tobruk government. Otherwise US military intelligence wouldn’t be doing favors for him.

The car passed the block and Alan Spencer made a quick decision. “Abdullah,” he said. “Please drive on this way for another quarter mile and let me off. I’ll find my way back to Tobruk later.”

Abdullah stopped, and Spencer gave him the fee they had agreed upon and another third as much.

Abdullah thanked him for his generosity, and Spencer said, “Thank you for your kindness and your patience. May Allah protect you.”

“And may he protect you,” said Abdullah. He turned the car around and drove off.

“Aameen,” Spencer muttered. “May it be so.” He stepped away from the road and onto the dusty, weedy ground. He selected a route a distance from the first buildings and walked it, staying far enough away from the village to escape notice. He avoided a junkyard and then made his way upwind of a municipal garbage heap. He found a hill he remembered that overlooked the dry river and the village on the other side. He climbed up and sat down to wait for the world to get dark.





35


When Julian Carson returned to his office in the Chemistry and Physics Building after lunch he found an e-mail waiting for him on his computer. It was from the chancellor’s office, and it had all of the formal boilerplate that was automatically added to anything originating there. There was Office of the Chancellor of the Arkansas State University and the address, phone number, and e-mail address of the chancellor’s office.

At first Julian wasn’t very interested because the chancellor’s office included pretty much everything that went on in the administration building, including the budget, the contracts and grants office, and the recruiting office.

He began to scan the message lazily, but then he sat up and read it carefully. It was addressed to Mr. Julian Carson, and it was from the vice chancellor for Campus Support, the administrator in charge of facilities.

“Dear Mr. Carson,” it said. “Please come to the Campus Support Office, Admin Room 310, at 2:00 p.m. today, December 12, for a meeting. You will be engaged for approximately one hour, so please clear your schedule from 2:00 p.m. to 3:00 p.m.”

He looked at his watch. It was after one. He checked his schedule for the afternoon to be sure he was free, and then printed the e-mail and went to the Chemistry and Physics Department office.

He knocked on the door of Helen, the chairman’s administrative assistant. She called, “Come in.” And he entered. She was, as usual, running figures on her computer and scribbling notes on a scratch pad, trying to devise ways to make the department’s budget accommodate everything—faculty, supplies, scientific equipment. “Hi, Julian. What’s up?”

“I got an e-mail that says I’ve got to go to a meeting at the vice chancellor’s office, from two to three.”

She glanced up at him and held out her hand for the paper. She read it quickly and handed it back. “Safety,” she said. “That’s my guess. You’re the designated person to handle and store dangerous chemicals and fool with high voltage and all that.”

“Would all the people who do that fit in his office?”

“The English Department doesn’t usually have anything that blows up. Maybe they’re organizing an emergency planning team for disasters or something. You’re not in trouble, or they would have told me too. Do I need to assign somebody to take your place while you’re gone?”

“I don’t think so. I thought I’d put a note on my door that I’ll be back at three.”

“Good idea. Enjoy the extra hour of sleep.”

“Thanks.”

He left Helen’s office, went back to his own, and posted his note, then walked across the campus.

When Julian got to the office of the vice chancellor at 1:55 p.m., he entered and found himself in a waiting room with a receptionist’s desk without a receptionist. He sat down in one of the chairs along the wall.

At 2:00 p.m. the inner office door opened and the vice chancellor came out. Julian stood, but the vice chancellor walked past him as though he were invisible and went out the door. Julian heard a sound, turned to look in the direction of the inner office, and saw three men come out—Mr. Ross, Mr. Bailey, and Mr. Prentiss. Apparently he was in trouble after all. But he had been misleading them and wasting their time, so the only real surprise was where they had turned up.

“Hello, Mr. Carson,” said Mr. Ross. “How have you been?”

“Okay,” said Julian. He glanced at the door where the vice chancellor had gone. He was making sure nobody got between him and the exit.

“Vice Chancellor Halgren was Captain Halgren once. He was happy to lend us his office and his employee for one hour.”